The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

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“Why,” said he, “a magician could call up a lot of genies, and they would
hash you up like nothing before you could say Jack Robinson. They are as
tall as a tree and as big around as a church.”

“Why, a magician could summon a lot of genies,” he said, “and they would
carve you up like mincemeat before you could say Jack Robinson. They’re as
tall as a tree and as big around as a church.”

“Well,” I says, “s’pose we got some genies to help US—can’t we lick the
other crowd then?”

“Well,” I said, “suppose we got some of our own genies. Wouldn’t we be
able to beat the other genies then?”

“How you going to get them?”

“How are you going to get any genies?”

“I don’t know. How do THEY get them?”

“I don’t know. How did the magicians get them?”

“Why, they rub an old tin lamp or an iron ring, and then the genies come
tearing in, with the thunder and lightning a-ripping around and the smoke
a-rolling, and everything they’re told to do they up and do it. They don’t
think nothing of pulling a shot-tower up by the roots, and belting a
Sunday-school superintendent over the head with it—or any other man.”

“Well, they rub an old tin lamp or an iron ring and then the genies appear
with a bang of thunder and lightening and smoke. And they have to do
everything they’re told to do. They wouldn’t think twice about pulling up a
whole

shot-tower and smacking a Sunday school teacher or any other man over the head
with it.”

“Who makes them tear around so?”

“Who makes them do such things?”

“Why, whoever rubs the lamp or the ring. They belong to whoever rubs the
lamp or the ring, and they’ve got to do whatever he says. If he tells them
to build a palace forty miles long out of di’monds, and fill it full of
chewing-gum, or whatever you want, and fetch an emperor’s daughter from
China for you to marry, they’ve got to do it—and they’ve got to do it before
sun-up next morning, too. And more: they’ve got to waltz that palace around
over the country wherever you want it, you understand.”

“Whoever rubs the lamp or ring, that’s who. Whoever does the rubbing
becomes the person in charge of the genies, and they have to do whatever he
says. If he tells them to build a diamond palace that’s forty miles long and
fill it with chewing gum or whatever else you want and then get you a
daughter of the emperor of China for you to marry, then the genies have got
to do it—before sun-up the next day, too. What’s more, they’ve got to put
that palace anywhere you want it.”

“Well,” says I, “I think they are a pack of flat-heads for not keeping the
palace themselves ’stead of fooling them away like that. And what’s more—if
I was one of them I would see a man in Jericho before I would drop my
business and come to him for the rubbing of an old tin lamp.”

“Well,” I said. “I think they’re a bunch of idiots for giving palaces away
like that and not keeping them for themselves. What’s more, if I were a
genie I would rather put any guy who rubbed my lamp in

“How you talk, Huck Finn. Why, you’d HAVE to come when he rubbed it,
whether you wanted to or not.”

“Listen to yourself talk, Huck Finn! You’d HAVE to come when he rubbed
your lamp, whether you wanted to or not.”

“What! and I as high as a tree and as big as a church? All right, then; I
WOULD come; but I lay I’d make that man climb the highest tree there was in
the country.”

“Ha! With me as tall as a tree and as big as a church? Fine then: I WOULD
come if he rubbed the lamp, but I’d make him climb the highest tree in the
whole country.”

“Shucks, it ain’t no use to talk to you, Huck Finn. You don’t seem to know
anything, somehow—perfect saphead.”

“Geez, it’s no use talking to you, Huck Finn. You don’t seem to know
anything—you’re a perfect moron.”

I thought all this over for two or three days, and then I reckoned I would
see if there was anything in it. I got an old tin lamp and an iron ring, and
went out in the woods and rubbed and rubbed till I sweat like an Injun,
calculating to build a palace and sell it; but it warn’t no use, none of the
genies come. So then I judged that all that stuff was only just one of Tom
Sawyer’s lies. I reckoned he believed in the A-rabs and the elephants, but
as for me I think different. It had all the marks of a Sunday-school.

I thought about all this for two ro three days, and then I reckoned I
would see if there was anything to it. I got an old tim lamp and an iron
ring and went out into the woods and rubbed and rubbed until I was sweating
like an Indian. I figured I could build a palace so that I could sell it.
But it wasn’t any use—none of the genies came. I decided that all that stuff
about genies was just more of Tom Sawyer’s lies. I decided he actually
believed in the Arabs and the elephants, but me, I knew better. It sounded
about as real as all that stuff you learn about in Sunday school.